


Another evening in the bookshop

by elf_on_the_shelf



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Short & Sweet, The backroom of the Bookshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf
Summary: ‘Okay, so, what were we even talking about?’‘You tagging along for that particular piece of entertainment, I believe. While being absolutely horrid about it. I don’t understand. I thought you liked Mozart.’‘Oh, yeah. Spiffing fellow. Big chaos energy. What’s not to like?’‘You should know about that.’‘Oh, I absolutely do,’ Crowley gave him a toothy grin that Aziraphale would always huff and puff about but Crowley was well aware that deep down the angel enjoyed it to bits._____________________The two husbands spend yet another quiet night drinking in the bookshop after an evening spent at the opera. The whole fic is just married bickering.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937872
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	Another evening in the bookshop

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Opera](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650696) by [Janara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janara/pseuds/Janara). 



> This fic was written for the BT Tower Telephone Event. 
> 
> Many many thanks to all the mods for the immense amount of fun that this event has been and the I-don't-even-want-to-begin-to-imagine the insane amounts of hours of work that they put into organising this.
> 
> Also, thanks Janara for the awesome inspiration fic. *chef's kiss*

‘Would you please stop dragging me to happy-go lucky shows like that?’

‘No one did any dragging, dear,’ Aziraphale commented as he sat down in his armchair after having poured them both a healthy1 amount of his prized Châteauneuf-du-Pape2 .

They were sharing the couch nowadays on a daily basis, but never when Crowley was in his pouty moods that had him sprawl over every possible inch and change position every couple of seconds. It was by trial and error that they arrived at the conclusion that this was probably for the best3 .

‘As I seem to recall, I merely pointed out that I want to go see the show and then you turned up and gave me a ride in your car while continuously complaining about my choice of entertainment.’

‘Bastard.’

This was delivered as Crowley shifted yet again and now had one foot perched atop an armrest while the other was dangling over the backrest and his head was semi-perched on the edge of the seat.

He tried to taste the wine with his long snake tongue but of course he couldn’t since it was too far away from him, all the way on the coffee table.

He snapped his fingers and the glass was now residing on the floor, right next to his head. He shuffled some more to get the angle just right and then, head now completely off the couch and upside down, he tasted some of that sweet sweet delight.

‘Crowley!’

‘Yessss?’ was directed the angel’s way while Crowley was still very much tongue deep in the glass of wine.

‘I told you I don’t like it when you do that.’

‘What? The sssssnake thing?’

‘No, darling. You sitting like that. Do _ try _ to be proper for once in your life4 .’

‘Proper. Sheessssh angel,’ he rolled his eyes at Aziraphale5 but did manage to right his position, if only just so that he could grab the glass properly.

‘There. Happy, angel?’

‘As a clam.’

Crowley snorted.

‘Okay, so, what were we even talking about?’

‘You tagging along for that particular piece of entertainment, I believe. While being absolutely horrid about it. I don’t understand. I thought you liked Mozart.’

‘Oh, yeah. Spiffing fellow.  _ Big _ chaos energy. What’s not to like?’

‘ _ You _ should know about that.’

‘Oh, I  _ absolutely _ do,’ Crowley gave him a toothy grin that Aziraphale would always huff and puff about but Crowley was well aware that deep down the angel enjoyed it to bits.

_ Well, two could play at this game. _

‘Well, angel. I thought I might go for a drive. A long one. Across the country even.’

The angel’s reaction was not what he was expecting. He was expecting him to comment on the quality of his driving or how “of course that would entertain him more than sitting firmly put and watching a piece of art take place before their eyes” He even expected the angel to make the same arguments as before and go off on a tangent about eighteen century oeuvres and the composers associated with them. He did not expect him to look down at his fingers that had already started to toy with the hem of his waistcoat forlornly and even pout a bit.

_ What was it he said? _ He tried to make sense of how the evening had gone thus far and remember what it could possibly be that made him upset his angel so6 .

_ Was it…oh, of course _ . It  _ had _ to be about the play.

‘Oh, angel! No no no, I meant it about Dorian! We’re going. I was thinking after that. And only if you want to join me. I can’t imagine spending another day without you, you silly thing.’

Aziraphale’s face instantly lit up and he threw Crowley the most loving smile he was capable of7 .

Crowley nearly melted altogether.

_ Oh, Someone _ , if anyone from Headoffice were to see him now…

Not that it mattered. Not anymore.

  
  
  


1To be read as the opposite of.

2That had been grape juice for a bit after the world had been righted but not for long, though. It only took Crowley giving it the evil eye for a bit before it started feeling bad about itself and putting itself to rights. One might argue that Crowley usually gave stuff the evil eye, being a demon and all. But this particular brand of it was reserved for unruly plants, people who spent too much time in the bookstore when he had important stuff to do like lounge with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and that particular revolving door. That had been a whole thing.

3The trial and error in question included a large sample of Aziraphale being either headbutted, receiving several elbows to the ribs and on one memorable occasion – that had actually been the catalyst of his armchair exile – getting kneed in a certain area that angels shouldn’t even have to worry about were they not bedding certain demons in their free time

4To be fair, Crowley did look like he wanted to re-enact the “paint me like one of your French girls” scene from Titanic but missed by a longshot while also not having gotten a proper training on how limbs should probably work.

5Aziraphale had been quite insistent that Crowley shouldn’t wear his sunglasses indoors because “I really do love your eyes, you silly, silly serpent”, but it was Anathema telling him that he looked “lame” and “trying too hard to look cool” that actually made him give them up while in a more private location.

6It was rather difficult since they were on their fourth bottle already.

There were a lot of things that the angel and demon duo were. Ineffable, for once. Involved in stopping the End of the World, there was that. One might even say that they were far more human than any of their other co-workers from Headoffice. But, what they were, more than anything else, was alcoholics.

7There was a wide variety of those directed Crowley’s way.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Draw Me Like One of Your Snek Girls?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655262) by [CatofApocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatofApocalypse/pseuds/CatofApocalypse)




End file.
